


A Mother's Worst Fear

by Untherius



Category: Brave (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Untherius/pseuds/Untherius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As war comes to Scotland, Merida goes off and does something rather rash...which leads to interesting discoveries about herself and her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Field

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkicedragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkicedragon/gifts).



Elinor, Queen of DunBroch, bustled across the castle square. She was worried... _very_ worried. “Merida? Merida?! Has anyone seen my daughter?” No one seemed to know the Princess' whereabouts. While it wasn't unusual for the Crown Princess to disappear to who-knew-where, now was entirely the wrong time for that. Less than a week before, England had declared war on Scotland. All its kings, including Fergus, had mustered armies to meet the invaders.

“Maudie,” said Elinor, cornering her head lady-in-waiting, “have _you_ seen Merida?”

The woman seemed to be trembling.

“Maudie? If you know anything, you tell me and tell me now!” pleaded Elinor.

“I...I'm sorry, your Majesty. I...that is, she...well, she left...your Majesty.”

“Left?! What do you mean, left?” Elinor's worry was being rapidly replaced by fear.

“She and that horse of hers rode out of the gate very early this morning, right before we closed it. She was carryin' more arrows than I've ever seen on one person before. At least three hundred, from the look of it.”

Elinor's fear quickly became terror. She whirled around and broke into a run toward the gate.

“I'm sorry, your Majesty,” said a guard, “but the King has ordered the gate to stay shut.”

Elinor growled. It was a deep, feral growl, one that would have surprised and alarmed Elinor, were she not so afraid for her daughter. The man twitched, his eyes widening. Elinor took a step toward him and glared. “Open...the...bloody...gate!” she growled, her voice far deeper than it should have been, with a decidedly unladylike gravel to it. The soldier hastily complied, despite protests from his superiors, who quickly backed off under the Queen's glare.

Once the gate was open, Elinor hitched up her skirts and broke into an inhumanly fast run.

* * *

Merida, Crown Princess of DunBroch, slipped from her horse Angus. She could easily have shot from his back, having done it more times than she could count, and the additional mobility would certainly have been prudent. But the horse, though brave, didn't have any combat training whatsoever. That made him unpredictable in battle, and therefore a liability. Merida knew that from the many times she'd overheard bits and pieces of military training lectures from her father to his soldiers. She hated thinking of Angus as a liability, but had to be practical. Doing otherwise would get her killed.

She grabbed several bundles of arrows, at least three hundred shafts altogether, and hung them from her belt. She nocked an arrow to the string of her sheephorn bow and prepared to draw. She was ever so glad she'd decided to tie her hair back. While she was used to letting it fly in the wind, it could certainly get in the way and she just as certainly didn't need that.

She drew in a deep breath, held it, then let it back out. Then she surveyed the battle. It had only just started and already the field was in chaos. She'd heard her father's jokes often enough: “After th' first five minutes, all battle tactics turn int' one o' three things...hit then scream, scream then hit, hit while screamin'.” Merida's brothers always found that to be rather funny and while Merida did, too, she'd long suspected there was some truth to it. Now that truth lay before her, a truth that was turning out to be very ugly indeed.

She didn't know if anyone yet knew she was there, nor did she know how long that might last. She drew, aimed, and loosed. Second and third arrows were in the air before the first found its target. She watched as one...two...three English footmen fell down. She flinched. What was she doing? It was probably a bit late for second thoughts. Correction: it was definitely too late for second thoughts. The battle line was rapidly moving in her direction.

Merida quickly nocked another arrow, drew, aimed, released. Nock...draw...loose. Nock...draw...loose. Four...five...six men down.

Suddenly the Scottish lines broke and men, both friend and foe, surged toward Merida like an ocean wave. Something in her mind clicked and she began to act on instinct. What happened next felt like she was like watching someone else.

An Scottish fighter ran ahead of an English pursuer, fear all over his face. Merida sank an arrow into the Englishman's face and he dropped like a rock. Another soldier spotted Merida and came straight at her. She loosed an arrow at him and was close enough to see the double splash of blood as the arrow went through his neck, exiting cleanly out its other side to embed itself in the shoulder of another Englishman.

Another arrow sliced through the side of a man's throat. He grasped at his neck, choking on blood as more gushed out between his fingers. The man behind him went down from the same arrow. Merida was now a target. She suddenly had a very bad feeling that she'd made a very rash, very dangerous, and quite probably a fatal decision. She continued loosing arrows as the English lines surged toward her. Twelve...thirteen...fourteen....

A great roar sounded somewhere behind her. She saw her attackers freeze and felt her own adrenaline go through the roof. She knew that sound and it could only come from one source. She slowly turned.

* * *

Elinor pelted down the road toward the broad valley below. She tried to ignore the mass of fighting men that filled it, but to no avail. Her mother's instinct drove her onward. She had absolutely no idea what she'd do when she arrived. Maybe she'd grab some people by their ears like she'd done before. On the other hand, she was quite sure the King of England wouldn't take that well. Then again, their respective countries were already at war, so damn him anyway!

She hurtled around a corner and nearly skidded to a stop. The main battle line stretched across the stream that ran through the moor. It looked like the lines had just broken and the Scots were falling back in disarray. Elinor spotted Merida standing on a rock and firing arrows at the enemy, a rapidly _approaching_ enemy!

Something deep inside Elinor rapidly boiled to the surface. She opened her mouth and bellowed. The sound surprised her. It was one she hadn't made since the previous year when she'd been a bear for a few days. She didn't have much time to dwell on that. Her daughter was in danger and that was that. Elinor resumed her run, roaring again as she barged into the mass of fighting men.

Everyone had stopped to look in her direction, probably startled by the roar and trying to find the bear that had made it. Elinor didn't care. She rushed an English footsoldier and rammed her shoulder into his chest. She felt a crack and heard a yelp of pain as he jumped backward to slam into the man behind him.

Elinor looked and saw the man coughing up blood. Had she done that? She didn't have time to answer her own question. Another Englishman stepped toward her and she drove the palm of her hand through his face. He crumpled to the ground, leaving Elinor staring at her own bloody, but unharmed, hand. Then she caught a glimpse of her daughter out of the corner of her eye and felt her resolve galvanize once more.

She thrust two soldiers aside, both of whom went flying outward like a pair of cats. Then another...and another...and another.... She reached Merida's rock and saw the girl loosing arrows into the enemy lines.

A horse reared up above her. Elinor reached up with both hands and grabbed its canons, the pawing hooves coming to an abrupt stop. She wrenched them sideways, feeling the sharp vibrations of tearing connective tissue. The animal squealed in pain. Elinor twisted the horse's legs and rolled it over onto its rider. Then she turned back to her daughter and caught her gaze.

“Mother?!” “Merida?!” “What are you doing here?!” they both said in unison.

* * *

“This is my home, too,” said Merida, looking down at her mother. She loosed another arrow and another, almost without looking. She heard the thwacking sounds and the cries of pain. Twenty-one...twenty-two.... “Don't I have a right to defend it?” Draw, loose...twenty-three.

A man reared up behind her mother, who brought her elbow back into his sternum. He crumpled onto the ground. “And you're my only daughter! Do not ask me to endure the sight of you returning lifeless to me.” She whirled around and grabbed another English soldier, sending him cartwheeling into several of his fellows. “Do _not_!”

Merida fired several more arrows. Smack...smack...smack... Twenty-four...twenty-five...twenty-six.... “I'm fine!”

Elinor wrenched a shield from another man's grasp, head-butted him, then hurled the shield. It spun in a blur, sawing through several other men. Blood and other fluids sprayed outward in a broad fan, splattering everything in a several-yard radius. “You are _not_ fine!”

“Yes, I am!” Twenty-seven...twenty-eight...twenty-nine...

“No, you are _not_!” Elinor grabbed a man's helm and ripped it off, taking his head with it. Blood fountained from the neck as the body toppled over, splashing a stripe of blood down the front of Elinor's dress.

“I am so!” Merida flipped an arrow around, jabbed its head into a man's neck, pulled it out, blood spurting after it, plunged it into another's eye, then ripped it back out, stringers of vitreous humor glinting in the sunlight. Some of it landed on her clothing.

“Are you really?” Elinor heaved the severed head at an approaching rider, knocking him cleanly from his mount.

“Yes, really.” Merida flipped the arrow back around, nocked, drew, and loosed in a swift, smooth motion, planting the arrow into another's chest. Thirty-one...thirty-two...thirty-three...

“Well, don't look now,” said Elinor, as she ripped of an arm, “but we...” She swung it around, a trail of blood arcing through the air. “...are now...” The arm collided with another man's head, knocking it clean off his shoulders. “...the two biggest targets...” She planted the arm into another man's chest. “...on the whole...” She grabbed a horse by its canons and shoved it into its fellows. “...bloody...” She neatly flipped another, rolling it over a line of pikemen. “...field!”

“Bloody, you say?” Thirty-four...thirty-five...thirty-six...

Merida and Elinor looked at each other. Both women were splattered with blood. They burst out laughing. Elinor's came out as a low, snuffling sound and Merida's as a chortling snort, which made both of them laugh more. Their laughter was short-lived and dissolved back into a literal fight for their lives.

* * *

Fergus, King of DunBroch, yanked his battle axe out of a man's collarbone and stepped back, breathing heavily. He turned to his First Armsman, Robert MacKenzie.

“Bloody Anglish. I'm gettin' to old fer this shite!”

“Whatever you say, your Majesty.” Then, “Your Majesty? I think we have a problem.”

“Of course we have a problem. We've been bloody fightin' it all bloody day!”

“Not that... _that_!” Robert pointed off toward the left.

Fergus briefly took his eyes off the enemy line before him toward a raucous knot of enemy soldiers. It was hard to see who or what they surrounded. They were fighting hard, though. Now and then, a fountain of blood gushed upward, a few soldiers fell back, and others dragged bodies away. He counted three men hurled through the air and then a horse. “What the hell?”

“No idea, sir.”

Fergus had a bad feeling about anyone who could fight like that. He knew, or at least knew of, every champion on the field. Not only were they all elsewhere, but even together, they couldn't do that much damage. The last time he'd seen it had been the final time he'd faced the great bear Mor'du. But that was impossible. Mor'du was dead!

A feral roar sounded from somewhere in the roiling knot of soldiers. Fergus knew that sound and he wasn't inclined to go anywhere near it. If the English wanted to kill themselves fighting a bear, he wasn't about to argue.  
The fighters parted briefly, but a horseman obscured Fergus' view.

“Um...sir?” said Robert. “Was that your wife and daughter?”

“ _WHAT?!_ ” Fergus looked closer. Another gap opened, giving him a straight line of sight. His heart leaped into his throat and sheer terror seized him. “ _NOOO!_ ” he bellowed.

Without warning, Fergus laid into the English with renewed aggression.

Robert swore under his breath, then called out, “To the King!”

Fergus bashed his shield into an opponent's face. The man crumpled to the ground. The Scottish King continued bashing and chopping his way through the English ranks, ignoring the burning in his muscles. While it wasn't hard for a man as big as Fergus, it was exhausting nonetheless, especially after having been doing it for hours already without a real break.

He ducked left as a body flew out of the crowd, then dodged in the other direction as a leg wheeled past his head. What the bloody hell—and he meant that literally—was happening in there?

After what felt like forever, Fergus barged up to the English soldiers surrounding his wife and daughter. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach hadn't left. He laid into the men there. He felt bad attacking from the rear like that. It was dishonorable. But his family was in trouble, so honor be damned! He hacked and chopped his way through the knot, narrowly missing the whirling hooves of a horse as it rolled over a dozen or so Englishmen.

Fergus stepped into the newly-formed gap and froze, his mouth hanging open. The terror he'd felt just minutes ago was instantly replaced by utter horror. There was his wife, soaked head to toe in blood and who knew what else, literally tearing the English apart like so much mutton. Right behind her, and atop a small rock, stood their daughter, also splattered with a goodly amount of blood, calmly firing arrows into the English. Was she...counting? It was by far the most terrible thing he'd ever seen in his life.

“Oh, don't just stand there!” growled Elinor. “Hit something!”

Fergus didn't dare argue with a woman who could personally rip an army to shreds with her own bare hands. “Are you bloody insane?” he asked as he took up a position on Elinor's right flank.

“Ask our daughter,” replied Elinor, raising her voice over the screaming.

Fergus would have sighed in exasperation if he'd had enough breathing room to do so. Instead, he raised his voice. “Merida, dear, are you bloody insane?”

“Don't distract me, Daddy...eighty-eight...eighty-nine...ninety...”

Fergus swore under his breath.

“Don't talk like that, dear,” growled Elinor as she yanked something out of a man's belly, wrapped it around a second man's neck and yanked.

Fergus flinched. He was never, ever, going be able to look at his wife the same way again. He might not even be able to...no, no, he'd always be able to do _that_. He turned to Robert. “Cover the Princess!”

“Sir!” replied Robert. He fought his way around to take up a position on Merida's left flank. He said nothing, for fear of being shot. The Princess was known to be the best archer in Scotland. If she were to shoot at you, she'd hit you. He could hear her counting over the noise of battle. But _what_ was she counting? Arrows? If so, that meant...she'd killed or injured well over a hundred people! The King was _not_ going to like that, not one bit.

He laid into the English trying to come up on the rear. If he let anyone kill the Princess, the King would never let him live to tell about it...nor would the Queen, for that matter, and _she_ would make him suffer for it, he was sure.

* * *

The sun sank onto the hills to the west and Fergus was exhausted. He'd barely had any time to breathe all day. First there was the usual warfare, if one could really call warfare usual. Then shortly after midday, he'd had to cover his wife and daughter. He'd wanted to send them back home, of course, but they'd been basically surrounded and the English hadn't let up for a moment. Now the enemy was in full retreat.

For the first time in hours, Fergus had time to look at more than just his current opponent and the next one. An unbelievable number of bodies and parts of bodies littered the ground, in places stacked two, three, sometimes six high. Many had arrows sticking out of them. Others were barely recognizable as either human or equine. He'd never seen anything like it before in his life.

He planted his axe firmly on the ground, head down, and leaned heavily on the end of the haft. Then he looked slowly over at Elinor and Merida. For a few moments, all he could do was stare.

Both women were breathing heavily with the exertion. Merida had blood splattered all over her clothing, her hair, her skin, and her now-empty bow. Most of it looked like it had come from close-range arrow impacts or minor splash from other nearby carnage. If she'd sustained any wounds of her own, they were minor.

Elinor, on the other hand, looked like she'd gone swimming in blood. Fergus had heard the term “blood bath” many times, of course, and had used it himself. His wife appeared to have taken it literally. Every square inch of her was completely coated in the red, sticky fluid, several layers thick in some places. Fergus couldn't tell if any of it was Elinor's, as his wife looked like a single, woman-shaped mass of blood. He found himself both greatly horrified and incredibly aroused.

Fergus carefully stepped over in front of his family and looked back and forth from one to the other, making eye contact. “Are...are you alright?” He wasn't sure what else to say.

Elinor half-glared at her husband. After a few moments, “I want a bath.”

“I'd say,” said Robert, “that you've already had one.”

Elinor swiveled her head around to glare at him and he quickly, but carefully backed off.

Merida slowly looked over at her father. “Three hundred fifty,” she said softly.

“What?” said Fergus.

Merida looked down and kicked at an empty quiver, then looked back at her father. “Three hundred fifty,” she said, a little louder. “I...I...I...” she stammered. “I killed three hundred fifty people!” she finally blurted.

Fergus took a step toward his daughter just as her legs buckled beneath her. He dropped his axe and caught his daughter. She'd begun to hyperventilate. That turned into crying, which rose into a wail, which then quickly died off into a whimper. “It's alright, honey,” said Fergus. “I'll be alright.”

He wasn't sure if he believed it. Part of him wanted to berate Merida for recklessly endangering her life. Part of him wanted to magically make it all just go away. He wanted to personally carry her back home, but he also had a duty as King to remain on the field until everything had been finally resolved one way or another. Never before had he so resented the responsibility of the Crown.

Elinor stepped over to him. “I'll take her home,” she said, her voice full of the elegant compassion Fergus had come to know over their nearly twenty years of marriage. Save for all the blood, it was hard to believe Elinor had been a raging, unstoppable killing machine not five minutes before.

Fergus passed Merida wordlessly to her mother. Elinor nodded to Fergus, smiled, then turned, squatted down to retrieve Merida's bow from where it had fallen, and trudged off toward the castle.


	2. Lessons Learned...Again

Merida opened her eyes. The morning sun streamed into her bedroom. Her stomach growled, informing her that it was time for breakfast. That was her favorite meal anyway. She threw back her blankets and stood up. Her whole body ached. Her arms, shoulders, and upper back felt stiff and tight the way they did after she'd been shooting for a couple of hours. Except that they felt ten times worse, like they would had she been shooting all day.

She reached up and rubbed at her shoulders. Something on her arm stung. She looked down to see several scabbed-over cuts on her arms. Scurrying over to her mirror, she saw that she had three others on her face: one across her nose; one on her cheek; and one in the middle of her forehead. She also noticed another across her right collarbone. What had she been doing, rolling around in the brambles?

A knock sounded on the door, startling her.

“Um...yes? Who is it?”

The door opened and Merida's mother stepped into the room. “I see you're up,” she said.

“Uh...yes. A princess rises early?” Merida wasn't quite sure her own idea of early and her mother's quite matched, but she'd been making an effort as of late. She still didn't like it, but she'd had to admit her mother had a point. Some day, Merida would be Queen and she'd have to start training for the job sooner or later. It was either that, or let one of her brothers do it.

Elinor smiled softly. “May I come in?”

“Aren't you already?” Merida sighed. “I...didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry.”

Elinor closed the door, glided across the floor, and hugged Merida tightly. She hugged back. After what felt like an eternity, she let go.

“What was that for?” said Merida.

Elinor exhaled deeply. “I thought I'd lost you.”

Merida furrowed her brow, but the cut on it made her wince and relax mid-furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Two days ago,” said Elinor.

“Weren't we going over heraldry two days ago?”

“Um...no. That was four days ago.”

“What?”

“You...don't remember?”

“Don't remember what?”

“You'd better sit down.” Merida complied and Elinor continued. “You know England invaded Scotland, yes?” Merida nodded. “And you know your father and every able-bodied man mustered the war levies to fight them, yes?” Merida nodded again. “Well, we won.”

“We did? Oh, good. Is Daddy alright?”

“Yes, yes, he's fine. You...really don't remember any of that?”

“Mother, you're confusing me...and it's making me nervous.”

Elinor sighed. “Not...everyone on the field was male. There were two women out there.”

“Really? Who?”

“You're looking at one of them.”

“You? What were _you_ doing there?”

Elinor didn't answer the question. Instead, she said, “And if you step back over to that mirror, you'll be looking at the other one.”

“ _WHAT?!_ ” blurted Merida.

“It's...well, if there's one day to forget, day before last would be it. Truly, if I had my druthers, it's not something I'd prefer you remember. But people have been looking at me strangely. And you've been asleep since...well, since evening before last.” Elinor stood up and walked over the wall. “So I figured I should come check on you...and talk.” She took Merida's bow off a peg, then handed it to her. It still had blood, now quite dried and brown, splattered all over it. A hand-shaped mark showed where it had pooled around Merida's fingers as she'd gripped the stave.

Merida reached out and took it. Then everything flooded back into her mind, and all at once: the sneaking out to help; the abrupt shift in the enemy lines that put her right in the middle of everything; her mother roaring like a bear and going berserk with the strength of a hundred men the size of Merida's father; the English dropping like flies. She suddenly felt sick. She dropped the bow, which fell onto the floor with a clatter. Then she fell to her knees and retched bile several times into a chamber pot that hadn't been there a moment ago.

When she was done, Merida rolled backward and slumped against her bed, gasping for breath. Her mother handed her a small, damp towel. Merida took it and wiped her mouth, then accepted a small tankard of water from her mother. After taking a few swallows, she looked up. “I...I don't understand.”

Elinor helped Merida to her feet and they both sat down on the bed. “Which part?” said Elinor. “The being ill part, or the me going mad part?”

“Both?”

Elinor chuckled softly in a perfectly ladylike way, but with a slightly gruff undertone. “Do you remember what people have said about killing?” Merida nodded. “Now you understand.”

Merida's mother didn't need to say anything else about that. If there was one universal truth about life in Castle DunBroch, it was that there was no such thing as privacy. Merida had, over her nearly twenty years, heard people discussing literally everything, including first kills. Now Merida knew what they meant and knew why her father had never wanted her to have anything to do with warfare. Now she had, now she understood, and now she'd have to live with it.

“Do you remember the weeks and months after I was a bear?” continued Elinor.

“How could I forget? That was...an interesting time. I think I learned more during those few days than I ever have before.”

“Well,” said Elinor, “I never really stopped being a bear, you know. I could always feel it there, just under the surface. It's very hard to explain. And I've never spoken of it to anyone, even your father. I would have taken it to my grave. But then...” She sighed.

Merida's heart sank and she lowered her head. “And then I had to go off and ruin it.”

Elinor put an arm around her daughter and smiled. “No, dear, you didn't ruin anything. Trust me. Believe it or not, I was terrified. Your father was even worse. Oh, he'll never say it, of course. But I can see it in his eyes.”

“Afraid I'd...be killed?”

Elinor nodded.

“I've never known Daddy to be afraid of anything, not even Mor'du. Are you sure it didn't have to do with the sight of you all covered in blood?”

Elinor tittered. “No, no. Actually...” She raised a hand to her mouth and rolled her eyes sheepishly.

Merida gasped. “You're not...is that what that was?”

“You...heard us?”

“Mother, this is Castle DunBroch. Everyone heard you.” Merida cleared her throat and changed the subject. “So why'd you do it? Slaughter all those...” She broke off with a cringe.

“They threatened my child.” Elinor's tone sent a chill down Merida's spine. “I know I've said this before and I know you're tired of hearing me say it, but I'm going to say it again anyway.” Merida looked up and made eye contact. “You'll understand when you have children of your own.”

Merida sighed. “Just like I understand about...” She choked back a few tears. “...about killing.”

Elinor nodded. “Exactly.”

“But why does it bother me so much?” blurted Merida.

“Because,” said Elinor, “you're a good person, killing's terrible, and you're a woman.”

Merida just looked at her mother.

“Women are made to give life, not to take it,” said Elinor. Before Merida could say more, Elinor continued. “And, yes, what I did two days ago affected me, too. Yesterday, I personally leveled a huge swath of forest. Our woodcutters are going to be busy all summer. If I could crush rock with my forehead and not kill myself, I'd be doing it.” She grinned.

Merida smiled and before long, they were both laughing.

After the laughter died down, Elinor continued. “What happened on that field changed us both, at least as much as the bear incident. I'll never be the same...and neither will you. Don't be surprised if your father starts talking about his 'Warrior Princess.' You can accept that as what you're becoming...or not.

“I've pushed you as much as I have partly because of the politics and so on, but also because I want you to be the best Queen you can be. You're a brave young woman, Merida. Still more than a little impetuous, sure, but very brave. This will be very important to you when you're Queen. And I think you may very well be the greatest Queen Scotland has ever seen.”

“Will it get easier?” said Merida.

Elinor thought for a moment. “No, I expect not...not at first, anyway. I hope you don't wake up screaming from nightmares, but if you do, don't hesitate to come runnin'...no matter how much I growl about it.”

Merida chuckled, barely suppressing a snort.

“Now,” said Elinor, “let's go get something to eat. I'm famished. And you may stuff your gob as much as you want. We've both earned it, I think. And it'll help us heal from all that...unpleasantness.”

“I love you, mother.”

“I love you, too, dear.” Then Elinor added, “And don't be surprised if people look at us funny. They'll get over it...or else.”

That made Merida laugh again.

“Are people saying much...about me, I mean?”

“No...not yet. It's mostly, 'Don't make the Queen angry!' Frankly, I don't know whether to be amused or dismayed. As far as I'm concerned, I was just protecting you. And please don't say you didn't need protection.”

“Actually...yeh, I think I did. I...I...” Merida started to cry.

Elinor took her daughter into her arms and held her. Once the tears subsided, Elinor said, “Oh, and you might want to tiptoe around Maudie for a while.”

“Why?”

“I stood there while she cleaned you up. And then I made her scrub me down. Even after removing me dress, I was _still_ covered in blood. I'm sure I must have taken ten years off the poor woman's life.” Elinor wiggled a pinky in her ear, then pulled it out and looked at it. There was something dark on her fingertip. She sighed. “Just as I thought. There's still some in my ears.”

"Ew!" said Merida.

Both women laughed again.

“You know, mother, I think this may be the single most interesting conversation we've ever had.”

“You might be right, dear. Oh, and last night, your father and I...well, don't be surprised if you end up with another sibling.”

“Mother!”

Elinor smiled and Merida laughed some more.

“Keep doing that,” said Elinor. “It helps. And you may chortle if you want.” That made Merida smile.

Together, the two women walked out the door and into the sunshine.


End file.
